Sociology for Dummies

So, I'm thinking of starting a new blog (or at least retitling this one.) My new/renamed blog would be called Weird Places I, Danielle L Renckly, Fell Asleep and Also Why Does My Hall Have So Many Damn Fire Drills?

It's a working title. 

But seriously. Those two things combined basically comprise my entire life at college so far this year. For one, the sleeping in weird places should really not be an issue. I have a single dorm and two sets of furniture. Two beds, two chairs, four perfectly good places to nap!  

Apparently, whatever instinct controls my sleeping habits would beg to differ. A list of the places I have fallen asleep in the last two weeks is as followed: 

the floor, the floor, the floor again, the shower, the floor, under my bed, the floor, the floor, the shower again, the floor, inside a box, the floor, the floor and, oh guess what? THE FREAKING FLOOR. 

For some reason, I keep waking up on the floor of my dorm. Sometimes I'll wake up on the floor and not remember how I got there. 

You know, this all plays pretty well into my "I'm secretly a werewolf" theory. 

But, moving on to the fire drill thing. I've been at school for about a month now. Four weeks. Not that long. In that time, my stupid building has been through four fire drills. That is literally a drill per week. Not, of course, that they've been spaced out that nicely. No, they happen without warning at the most inopportune times. Like at midnight. Or when it's storming in a torrential fashion. Or when I was very busy watching the Vampire Diaries, thank you very much! 

Stupid college. 

Speaking of stupid college, I had a test in Sociology today. 

It did not go well.

 Have you ever read something that was in English, or whatever language you happen to speak natively, and have just not understood it? Like even a little bit? 

That had never happened to me before this morning. And let me tell you...it was terrible. Awful. I almost cried. I was taking my exam and I looked at the first question and I...

I...

I DIDN'T GET IT. 

It said something along the lines of "looking from the perspective of Muller's theory on differential association, how does the ruling class assure its hegemony through constructing and diffusing a proper ideology of crime?" 

Ummmm...yes? 

 Is this what stupid people feel like all the time? IS IT? 

I feel like I'm in Latin/Spanish/Math class all over again. I hate being not awesome at things. 

And with that improper segue...(spelled that word right on the first try, I did) 

I'm currently in mourning. I've had a dear friend fall gravely ill. And by dear friend I mean my macbook and by gravely ill I mean it decided that it wanted to stop turning on. 

My computer is quite the hipster. Apparently, working when I needed it to work was too mainstream. Now, I'm stuck doing all my homework/facebook stalking/blog typing on a computer in the library. When I am struck with my own hilariousness and start to laugh like a moron, the people all stare at me.

Peasants. They're all jealous of my overwhelming awesomeness.

But, seriously...I know nothing at all about computers. I know that they're the special magic boxes that let me watch my shows and type my snark-tastic blogs, but that's pretty much it. So, my attempts to fix my lovely macbook began and ended at hitting it, yelling at it and then cussing it out. 

So, I'm probably going to need to contact a professional. 

I'm gonna go stand outside the library and stop the first dweeb in a Doctor Who shirt. Sound plan, I think. 

I'll let you know how it all pans out.

Day 176 of College: Special Skills and Sportulas

Today...


I have news. I got lemonade from chick-fil-a today...and I didn't even spill it on a hot boy. Huzzah. It's a Wednesday miracle. 


Anyhow. I've decided to become bilingual. The first two attempts didn't go so hot. Once, I tried to learn Latin. I can say the Pledge of Allegiance in Latin. To this day, it remains the only thing I can say in Latin (oh, and sportula which means "small gift basket"). 


My other attempt to become bilingual was with Spanish. I have tried and failed to learn Spanish many times. I've taken Spanish One not once, not twice, but thrice. Thrice times of Spanish! Madness, I know. When you add in the fact that my sister has almost graduated college with a Spanish Education degree, it gets kinda sad. 


Regardless of my many language failures, I've decided to try again! I've decided that I'll either go for German (because that's where my Dad's family is from) or French (because that's where my Mom's family is from) or Russian (because what the hell.) 


I'm leaning towards Russian because they have letters that look not like english letters and because the "what the hell" factor in my life could use some increasing. 


Yeah. 


Moving on to other things, I've noticed recently that I have no special skills. I can't whistle. I can't roll my r's. I can only snap with one hand. My break dancing is only sub-par. My bird calls leave something to be desired. And, as I've previously stated, I only know one language and that language is English. 


Lame. 


I need to develop some special skills. Well, I am rather good at making sandwiches. I'm also good at punching, hitting and biting.  And, let us not overlook my most special of skills, my ability to remain single for nineteen years. 


Yes, I'm not 19 yet, but I'm rounding up. The chances of me getting a boyfriend by this Saturday are about .00000000000000000000000000000000000001, in statistical terms. 


Anyhow, hope you are all having a lovely February even though I am not.  


Danielle OUT. 


P.S. Wanna read about my thoughts on football? I knew you did. Click here. 

Day Twenty-Seven of College: Being Depressing is a Special Skill

Today...


I hate Ball State's wireless internet. Seriously. It takes, like, three hours for three minutes of video to load. I've yelled at my computer nine times today. On the bright side, I've downloaded Google Chrome on my Mac. Let the hilarious misspelling mishaps ensue. 


Anyway...college. Contrary to popular belief, not all of it is spent partying. Saturday and Sunday and most of Friday...I will admit that not much gets done at those times. But, Monday through Thursday...there are classes. And they expect us to LEARN. Ugh. Learning. Learning is for people who got 1910s or lower on their SATs (ahem...not me). 


Today in English, a class that I despise with a great passion, we were instructed to craft a resume. I filled out the education, work experience and the extracurriculars with no problems. Psh...that resume was pretty awesome from my perspective. At least, it was until I reached the special skills portion. That was when I realized that I have NO SPECIAL SKILLS. I can't speak a different language (made up or otherwise). I can't do karate. I can't even ski. Or say no to a third helping of steak or pumpkin pie. NO SKILLS. NO SKILLS AT ALL.


Well, not unless you count my ability to say the pledge of allegiance in latin (in my deep and soothing radio voice nonetheless) or my talent of describing mundane events with an astonishing amount of wit and clarity. That and the fact that I am very, very good-looking. 


(I wonder if statements like that are the reason that I have no friends.... Nah, that can't be it. I'm awesome. Everybody else is just intimidated. Right...that's why I spent most of the day curled up in a corner listening to the song "I Can't Make You Love Me" on repeat and crying. That's totally why.)


But, anyway, nobody seems to take me and my special skills seriously. Would it help if I told you I can eat ten saltine crackers at one time without any water? No? It figures. All the useful skills that I have and no one takes me seriously. 


This is madness. 


Absolute madness. 


Can you say the pledge of allegiance in Latin? Can you even spell allegiance? (it's okay...I couldn't either. Google Chrome corrected it to many outlandish and impractical things. No time for that now.) Can you be very very good-looking? I didn't think so.


I have to go. "I Can't Make You Love Me" is starting again and I feel a fresh wave of tears coming on. Oh, the pains of being a teenage girl. 


Danielle Out.